Mad Alchemy PRO Plus Chamois Cream
Some years back I turned in a review of a bike that opened with my biggest criticism of the bike—its weight. As diplomacy goes, it rather missed the mark, but my thinking was that with that obvious defect out of the way, I would have the opportunity to go on to discuss the bike’s many strong points.
My editor returned the review to me and suggested that a great many people (maybe even me) would be happier if the review could open on a more positive note. I obliged and was more or less pleased with the result.
There’s a very good chance I didn’t learn my lesson back then. Witness how I open this review of the Mad Alchemy PRO Plus Chamois Cream.
Chamois creams aren’t meant to smell edible. They should smell pleasant. They should smell clean. They should, perhaps, even smell vaguely antiseptic. However, they should never smell like lemon pie.
Except maybe this once. The PRO Plus floods my nose with the smell of creamy lemon so perfectly that each time I open the stuff I have to remind myself not to swipe a fingerful of the stuff on my tongue. With the look, feel and smell of pie filling, consumers could be confused into thinking this stuff is edible. And that’s literally the worst thing I can say about it.
The cream is veggie-based, so even though it may be edible, I’m not recommending that as a selling point. The real upside of its formulation is that it avoids a number of additives (such as parabens) that folks have become increasingly concerned about. It’s fair to say some junk doesn’t belong on your junk.
Whether you apply the cream to yourself or your shorts can make a big difference in how much cream you use and how effective it is. Some folks tell me they use cream like they are greasing a bearing race on their rain bike. I tend to use just enough to cover the contact areas that I have previously managed to chafe. Even so, there are times when the shock that comes with a mentholated chamois cream is more than I can handle that early in the day; having one with no appreciable zing is nice.
As I mentioned, the consistency of the PRO Plus is remarkably like pie filling. That is, too creamy and viscous to pour, but easy to spread with a finger or two. I believe that’s an important factor in its ability to prevent chafing; were it too slick, it wouldn’t provide the protection necessary to do the job.
In the end, a great chamois cream is a bit off the radar. When it does its job best, you never notice. So when I say this stuff is unremarkable, that’s praise, high praise at that.
PRO Plus goes for $17.95 for a 4 oz. jar. Coming from a made-in-America, one-man-operation that uses top-shelf ingredients, that’s a steal.
Learn more here.
Beljum Budder
The first product I ever used as a chamois cream was Noxema. My teammates let me in on their little secret after I confessed that I was battling multiple saddle sores. The revelation improved my relationship with countless pair of substandard shorts, and made the good shorts heaven itself. It eventually fell from favor as shorts improved but as I aged and my skin became more sensitive it became a necessity once again.
When I ran across Beljum Budder in its red, black and yellow accented tube, I knew I needed to check it out. In the exploding market of chamois creams, a chamois cream that evokes Belgium and maintains a sense of humor definitely gets points for style.
I’ve been using Beljum Budder on rides longer than two hours for a few months now. The first major difference between Beljum Budder and some of the other chamois creams I’ve used lately is the fact that the mentholy-zing on this stuff is much less pronounced. It goes on easier and if I pull over to respond to nature it isn’t reactivated by a little fresh air, nor does it make the act unnecessarily difficult.
One of the oddest things I’ve noticed about some chamois creams is that they are actually too slick, at least for my taste; I don’t like the feeling that my nether regions are as slick as freshly lubed ball bearings. I’ve got no such issue with Beljum Budder. The cream seems to strike the right sort of balance between preventing chafing and making things slippery. Sorry if that headed into TMI, but the very nature of the discussion crosses at least one boundary, (cough).
While I like interesting scents for my embrocations, I prefer my chamois cream to be unadorned. Beljum Budder is, thankfully, almost perfectly scent-free.
I’ve been using an 8-ounce tube for three months and still have a long way to go before finishing it. It has caused me to wonder if I don’t use the stuff more judiciously because it’s not in a tub. While I certainly prefer embrocations in tubs, I think chamois cream may go further if it is sold in a tube. And for those who apply cream to their shorts rather than themselves, a tube is likely a good deal easier for application.
The 8-ounce tube carries a suggested retail price of $19 on the Beljum Budder web site. For $11, you can get 10 .3-ounce single-use packets, which are terrific for traveling.
I’ve yet to run across a chamois cream that I flat-out disliked or one that didn’t perform acceptably, so that may make recommending one cream over another difficult. Even so, that doesn’t mean I haven’t formed a strong preference; Beljum Budder is definitely my favorite so far.
